


The Work of Wings

by Elleth



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Miscommunication, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-10 17:05:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2032974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleth/pseuds/Elleth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While the War of the Elves and Sauron rages in Middle-earth, Finduilas welcomes Elwing on Tol Eressëa to let her seek out news about her son. Neither woman expected to have her feelings thrown into turmoil by the visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Work of Wings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Calima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calima/gifts).



> For Calima, who requested a story about Elwing and Finduilas.

_The work of wings_  
 _was always freedom, fastening_  
 _one heart to every falling thing._

(from _One Heart_ , by Li-Young Lee)

* * *

If Elwing reminded her of any bird at all, Finduilas thought, it was a swallow rather than a seabird. Perhaps it was the fact that she was slight and lithe, cresting the ridge of the final dune into view with her feet barely sinking into the loose sand and her wings folded onto her back like a cloak, so long that the tips of her pinions dragged between the sparse grasses. Or perhaps it was simply the shape of her face and the set of her twinkling eyes that mustered Finduilas with an expression somewhere between cautious friendliness and casual indifference.

Finduilas rose to her feet and brushed the sand off her dress, sketching a bow. “Welcome,” she said. “I am Finduilas of Hópa Óressë, and I am glad you came.”

Elwing did not return the courtesy of a greeting. Without breaking eye contact, she cocked her head forward a little, saying in a soft voice, “I heard you had news of Elrond. Tell me of him.”

Her forthright manner made Finduilas smile a little. It was refreshing, after inhabiting her office as the lady of the town for nearly a decade now, to find someone who would not bow and scrape as so many of her people tended to do. It made her feel less at the edge of the life she meant to participate in - and it seemed only fitting that Elwing, coming from the northernmost margin of Arda to Tol Eressëa, should make her feel a kind of belonging, familiarity not born from the few impersonal letters they had exchanged before. Nor did it stem from the inspiration that Finduilas had, at her arrival in Eressëa, drawn from a voracious reading of the history and politics of the First Age after her death, and Elwing’s efforts in particular. That had driven her to try and build up Hópa Óressë from a disordered hamlet where a few relatives of her mother’s kindred dwelled into a welcoming haven - but meeting Elwing in the flesh the first time... 

It was hard to put a name to the feeling. Finduilas almost willed herself to laugh it off. They had met mere minutes ago, and it was too early to draw any conclusions. She cleared her throat.

“There have been more and more ships coming from the Outer Lands,” she explained. “And more are expected still. The rumors and fears of war that they brought before have become a reality – Sauron - Gorthaur of Tol Sirion - has revealed himself, and is making war upon the Eldar of Middle-earth. The lands of the Noldor were laid waste despite your son's best efforts to defend them, it seems, but he escaped and founded a refuge in the mountains. I have heard it said that he was looking to your example, such as he remembers it.”

Elwing's gaze rested on her face. They were both still standing, neither of them taking the opportunity to sit in the soft sand. Finduilas cleared her throat. “But surely your lord husband could have told you as much?”

Elwing twitched her head, the movement one to drive off an irritating fly, although this close to the sea bothersome insects were rare. “His absences grow longer. He cannot very well deprive the nights of the world of their brightest star and token of hope, and the skies... have a pull of their own.” Her voice, enunciated so clearly before, dropped into a murmur.

“So you are so keen on tidings of Elrond because you are feeling lonely?”

The answer came sharply again, ringing with a sadness that struck Finduilas like a blow. “I may live apart from most of Aman, but I am _not_ lonely. Evranin and Meleth are with me, and some others have settled near my tower. The seabirds are with me often. They are good company; I daresay you would find them much akin to you. They enjoy mindless chatter.”

“I see,” Finduilas said, trying to soften her own voice even faced with the rebuke. Grief, she knew, would out. “Perhaps you might introduce me once they come past here? There is a promontory not far east of here where they rest while they migrate from Númenor into the north of Aman, and it is almost time for them.”

“Then _you_ are lonely, if you seek to befriend the seabirds rather than the Eldar of your town?”

Apparently Elwing's isolation had done nothing to dull her keen mind. Words didn't quite come to her, and she stood shuffling her foot. Sand slipped into her shoe.

“It is not that,” Finduilas finally admitted with some hesitation. It was not precisely that. “But I am left on the outside looking in, and even though I am paid every courtesy, my people struggle to grow into one folk. Befriending anybody might show favouritism and lead to rifts that I would avoid. And with more and more arrivals... lady, you once ruled a haven that was made up of refugees as much as mine is... why is it that I cannot? With no one to turn to, I sometimes feel as though I am all alone in the world.”

Elwing nodded. “Such is the nature of Aman. There is no force here that drives unity – at least not in the way there was in Middle-earth with her sorrows. There is no need for it. The people will be content to live their lives when there is nothing that drives their cooperation beyond the necessary. The war is in the Outer Lands, not here, and we can do very little – I would advise you to let history run its course, for more and more families will come together the more people return, and more and more bonds will be re-knit.”

“I am not a very patient woman,” Finduilas admitted. “Although I am willing to wait if that is the best course - but hear me prattle without ever offering you the hospitality you are due. You must be weary, I am certain, after flying such distance to meet me.”

“Not merely that - I have not had much reason for flight for a long time now, but I would know more of my son and I intend to speak with those who may give me firsthand accounts of him, rather than hearsay,” said Elwing. “I had hoped he might be here, or might arrive soon.”

“You are welcome to stay as long as you wish,” said Finduilas, making a note to inform her household to not ask after Eärendil lest it grieve Elwing again. Then she added, “Gereth prepared a room for you; she was very glad to hear you had announced your coming.”

“Gereth?” asked Elwing. The name slipped off her tongue in a familiar, gentle cadence, and her eyes lit up. She blinked rapidly a few times over dry eyes. “I did not know she was with you; I thought she had fallen defending me against her people at Sirion…”

“She was wounded, but she survived and sailed after the War, or so she told me,” said Finduilas. “I have not been here that long, but I am glad of her, too. She was one of those Fëanorians I had always liked while she lived in Nargothrond. She used to pass me sweets and trinkets when I was young, and to escape everything the world hurled at her – the dragon, the wilderness she had to cross to come to Doriath, the fall of Doriath... and the Havens - she was lucky. If anybody deserved the pardon of return, it was her.”

“Yes,” Elwing said. “I shall be glad to meet her again. Indeed -” she paused with a rustle of her wings, “this is the very thing I spoke about. She has a share in both our pasts – she would placate me with treats as well when I grew restive, and she served me well for many years - and now see, we are already much more familiar with one another.” 

Finduilas smiled in answer.

* * *

Evening was settling over the town, and even the lapping of the sea on the shore seemed to fade into a background murmur. Finduilas set aside the lightstone in whose shine she had been working, and covered it. Different than in Beleriand, it still struck her how quickly night fell on Eressëa, so much further south. Finduilas decided that more of the census lists of new arrivals could wait until the morning; she had a guest to entertain - they had not even taken the evening meal yet. 

Elwing had been content to be left alone after their meeting in the dunes and had taken leave from Finduilas to explore the town on her own and speak with its inhabitants, perhaps, she said, even to travel to Avallónë, the main port of the region a little further southwest, where survivors coming from the East first landed before they gravitated outward to find their kin and places to settle. Elwing had promised to return for the evening, however, and just as Finduilas stacked the final scroll into its place there came a soft rap on the door to announce just that.

“I will be for dinner shortly, Gereth,” she called. “I have not forgotten.” 

Gereth was waiting for her when she exited the room, almost fluttering with happy anticipation of meeting Elwing. “I made sure she has seaward room in the tower, and dinner will be certain to please her.” Even though it hardly befitted her station as majordomo, Gereth followed Finduilas, helped her change into appropriate attire in green and gold, and brushed out her hair until it ran down her shoulder in open waves. 

Elwing was waiting for them at the foot of the stairs. She had discarded her wings and wore a lovely dress in the same white and silver-grey, embroidered with feathers that softened the muscles of her shoulders and ran down the wide sleeves in patterns that made her look half a bird still. Behind her, Finduilas could hear Gereth stop and suck in a breath. 

“Good evening,” said Finduilas. She could not deny that Elwing looked lovely, even though the corners of her mouth drooped with weariness, and her eyes seemed shadowed. “I see that you must have had an… engaging day.”

“You had the right of what you said in the morning,” said Elwing. “I spoke with people in the town and sat long with those who had stories to tell of Elrond - and of Elros, from those few among your people who travelled to meet him. I have learned enough to put me at ease, such ease as there may be - the Heren Istarion for guidance, and Glorfindel to protect him - I remember well Eärendil’s stories of his sacrifice, and do not doubt that his loyalty persists.”

“You place your trust in so few?” Finduilas could not contain the surprise in her voice, and her hand clutched, without her volition, at the twinge of hot pain that speared through the center of her stomach, though her skin stretched smooth and whole underneath her dress where the wound had been. “It is not that I doubt their noble intent, but it may prove folly… it seems so little against the reports of overwhelming force…”

A ripple went through Elwing; if she had worn her wings she might have rustled them. As it was, her fingers clenched. “I do not see what else could be done. The truth is the same now as it was when Cuiviénen was cut off from return, and when Beleriand sank: were the West to engage Sauron, they would visit destruction upon the world again. And remember,” Elwing said, her eyes suddenly clearing, “that hope often comes on hidden, rather than open, paths and by the hands of those unlooked-for. It holds true there as here.”

Her eyes went to Finduilas’ face, and Finduilas felt her breath catch in her throat: Elwing’s eyes gleamed with the same light that Lúthien’s had once held, a memory that not even her death had availed to weaken. Her throat suddenly dry, Finduilas turned away. “I hope you are right,” she said, and hoped the quaver in her voice might be attributed to the topic they were discussing, not the heat rising into her face. “Let us dine lest Gereth’s efforts are wasted. I hear she prepared something that is certain to be to your liking.” 

She hoped that the attention on the food would turn her mind from the sudden rush of memories and emotions that she did not know how to handle. 

* * * 

Dinner became a quiet affair. Elwing claimed she was too weary for much hunger and merely pecked at her food - albeit with obvious, familiar relish and much praise lavished upon Gereth, who glowed with happiness. Finduilas was too caught up in her thoughts to pay much attention to the taste and texture of her food, jabbing her fork into samphire greens and fish with little discrimination. 

“You are very quiet,” Elwing observed as they were nearing the end of the course. “Is aught wrong?” 

Finduilas swallowed the last bite of her food and cast around for an explanation. That she was unhappy with the way her thoughts were straying was not an answer she could give - Elwing was married even if her marriage had drawn apart and left her unhappy, and more than that, she was a woman; the light of her eyes should not dwell on Finduilas’ mind as much as it did. She tapped her fork against her lips, staring at the cleared plate. 

“I was merely… wondering about your day in the town. I told you of the… the splintering of my people, or rather, the lack of unity between them to begin with. Was this something you observed today as well?” 

Elwing’s eyebrow twitched into an expression that was not quite a frown, but if she did not believe these were the thoughts that occupied Finduilas’ mind, then she did not give voice to her doubts. 

“In part – in many ways your town feels very much the same as the Havens of Sirion did in their early years. What I said before still holds true. The people here seem content, and with no small credit to you, but what may have begun as relief has grown into complacency, and there are many groups, different by ancestry and allegiance - for them all to merge will take time. Seeking to force them will do you no good.”

“You imply they will be quick to splinter with little reason.” The glow of pride at Elwing’s covert praise guttered out and left her with a dull feeling in the pit of her stomach. 

"In the Blessed Realm," Elwing said quietly after a beat of silence and a glance shadowed with loneliness at Finduilas’ face, "where no greater griefs distract us, the small things hold all the power. Do you not think that is how the Noldor came to rebel, ultimately? Morgoth knew this."

“ _Are there no greater griefs now?_ ” Finduilas said harshly. The words hurt her throat, and that Elwing should deny her own unhappiness so callously made her livid; if only Elwing acknowledged it she might be able to comfort her. Finduilas shoved her plate away and rose to her feet. “I do not know if I can believe that when I look at you.” 

Dead silence settled. Elwing also rose, with slow, cool, deliberation that even the weariness of her motions did not mask. Her eyes glittered like forged metal now. 

“I would fly tonight if I were sure my wings would carry me, but my greatest grief this very moment is that I must rest,” she said. “It seems the histories that speak of the famed sweetness of Finduilas of Nargothrond were wrong, or death purged it from you. Do not expect me at breakfast. I will depart at sunrise.”

Finduilas knew she ought to say something - that the flare of temper was out of character for her, and that Elwing bore no fault - at least not by any of her words or actions, and rather by the painful acknowledgment that Finduilas even now was reluctant to make to herself. Such attraction was not meet, nor was the desire to see Elwing - long a shining example - impressed by her efforts, and consider Hópa Óressë a haven to come to so she might for a while forget the unhappiness that hung over her like a shroud. 

“I am - I will be going to star-watch,” Finduilas said, her tongue stumbling the words into the room where she could imagine how they fell and shattered. “I meant to say - it pains me to see you lonely, not…” She shook her head; words would not convey adequate amends. “You are welcome to come up into the tower; if the clouds allow fair sight, Eärendil will be easy to find.” 

The shadows on Elwing’s face shifted and softened, but she said nothing, merely turning to hurry from the room at a swifter step than her professed weariness should have allowed, setting the feathers on her dress to rustle. 

* * * 

The view through the eyepiece blurred again, and Finduilas jerked her head back, dragging the sleeve of her dress - already marked with wet spots - over her face first, and then over the instrument. Not that there was much to see; the moon had risen and the wispy clouds caught and multiplied the glow enough that only the brightest stars were visible, Eärendil chief among them, although his figure at the helm, visible sometimes on clear nights when Vingilot drew near to earth, remained unseen. What she would do if she caught sight of him, she did not know. Clench her hands in impotent, unfair bitterness, perhaps.

And Elwing had not come. Finduilas had not expected she would, not truly, although she had half-hoped it. She knew well what the stance on thoughts such as hers was - professed tolerance until they were spoken aloud or became clear by the acts associated - but even so the quick certainty that she cared for Elwing and the pain of the knowledge that she had hurt her left no other conclusion. This was not unspoken of in the loremasters’ texts. How one would gladly shield another from all the ills and wearinesses of the world was well-described, but Finduilas could not remember having felt it so acutely yet.

“But you thought you would do the same for Gwindor and Túrin,” she murmured aloud. “And see how quickly you turned from the one when the other came. What makes you certain you will not turn from Elwing when Gwindor is released from Mandos and healed from the griefs of Angband? What makes you certain she would turn to you to begin with, fickle and under the Shadow as you still are, if you lash out so at the one you profess to hold dear?”

Finduilas began to disassemble the telescope, but a shrill cry overhead gave her pause. Bright against the backdrop of the clouds, and almost too quick for her eye to follow darted a flock of terns, more coming until half the night seemed alive with the swift bodies flitting over and around each other along the shore, bright orange legs and beaks flashing, without a seeming care in the world. 

In her haste to get away, Finduilas left the telescope standing as it was, and shut the tower door with more force than necessary behind her. 

* * *

It was the morning light rising through Finduilas’ curtains that woke her, rather than, as customary, the dawn bell from the town.

She cast around blearily for a moment, trying to place the uncomfortable feeling pressing into her back until she remembered that she had only paused to yank the drapes shut the moment she had come from the roof the night before, and fallen into bed without even disrobing. Finery though her dress was, it had seemed good enough to sleep in then, and she had succumbed easily before discomfort from the hooks and eyes holding her bodice in place had become obvious.

The air in her chamber was stuffy, she noticed next, and heavy with breath in ways that reminded her of Nargothrond and the stone arches that had sheltered so many people, rather than the breezes sweeping along her new seaside home.

Then she sat up and saw the reason. The soft light through the drapes illumined a figure sitting in a chair by her bed with her head sunk to rest on the feathers of the wings folded around her, and her hair spilling over her face. Finduilas blinked in disbelief, wondering if the sensations she had so carefully mapped were enough proof that she no longer dreamt, for Elwing’s unexpected presence might as well be some wishful image her mind had conjured up. 

Finduilas rose quietly so as not to disturb her sleeping guest, and moved into the antechamber, where Gereth, as was her custom (even against Finduilas’ friendly protest that she did not need to perform the duties of a handmaiden in addition to her usual tasks), would have set a bowl of cold water so Finduilas could better rouse herself. The sight of two, side by side, finally convinced her that she was not dreaming, and it was not merely the splash of water that set her heart to throb an excited staccato. 

Why Elwing had come to her, ostensibly on the verge of leaving if her wings were any indication, Finduilas could not fathom - and after the past night did not wish to assume until she had heard it from Elwing’s own lips. Even though Finduilas doubted that she had come for accusations or a continuation of the argument, something within her twisted at the thought that the reason might not have been entirely positive, and she resolved, for the moment, to let her sleep. 

As she stole out of the room, she tried to remember what morsels Elwing had picked from her plate the night before. In absence of any directions from their lady beyond the usual duties, her household were assembled in the kitchen, sharing their own breakfast in a loud and apparently joyous mood; even from beyond the heavy oaken door she could hear the bursts of laughter. It made her smile as she entered and greeted them - and pointedly avoided Gereth’s curious looks while she worked to assemble a tray of leftovers. 

It was amazing, she mused idly, climbing the steps back to her room, how swiftly she had come to care for Elwing. 

“It was Eärendil who would not let me sleep,” Elwing said the moment Finduilas pushed the door open. She twisted around in her chair to look at Finduilas with her eyes wide and tired. “It is not his fault; I am not blaming him for who and what he is - but I am not rested enough to depart.”

“I brought you breakfast,” replied Finduilas, standing with the evidence of that in her hands, and feeling more foolish than she had thought possible.

“The last time he came to my tower, and every night since, he was too bright to look at,” Elwing continued, seeming not to hear the offer. “Even for me. I thought, when I heard you coming down the tower - that I could speak to you - because you saw it clearly, our… disunion, did you not? That was what you meant to say to me over dinner - your recognition of those… greater griefs. I know that you have dealt with the feeling yourself, of loving one you - perhaps - ought not, and I ought to have expected you to see.” She paused and lifted her gaze. “I love Eärendil still, and your words last night were uncalled for.” 

Finduilas felt her face beginning to heat in shame, and stood silent, waiting for Elwing to continue.

“I do not call them cruel only because I know they came from a place of goodwill, however misguided, and I had hoped to explain to you last night what I am saying now. But I must have been mistaken about hearing your steps, for when I came here I found you already asleep.” 

Finduilas nodded, freeing a hand to gesture at her rumpled dress and smooth it down haphazardly. She still - again - had to face it, this time worse than before, the inexorable pull toward Elwing and the recognition, perhaps, of the feelings that roiled under Finduilas’ skin, but she pushed that thought away, deep into her mind. “You may have heard rightly, but last night I wanted an escape from my thoughts. I fell asleep almost at once.” 

“You are lucky that you can sleep in such turmoil,” said Elwing. “I never could. The night before the Sons of Fëanor came upon the Havens I was awake, although I never expected what lay in store for me. Or rather, I expected another fate entirely - not wings beating at the rush of the bubbles underwater, but love will do such things.”

“Love will do such things?” Finduilas echoed. She set the tray aside and sat on her bed opposite Elwing, leaning forward toward her. Again her heart was beating painfully, and she clasped her hands around her knees to prevent them from shaking. 

Elwing, who had never touched her before, reached out a wing for her; brushing soft feathers over Finduilas’ hands. Finduilas’ breath caught for the umpteenth time. 

“Whether that was the love of Ulmo for us Children, or with the aid of Melian’s blood, grief for my sons, my love for Eärendil, or to the Silmaril, or for the world in some foreknowledge, I have never been quite able to say. In truth… I do not remember. Birds do not think in the same manner we do; it is instinct with them, and feeling rather than thought. And whichever the reason was, it was I who cast myself from that tower, and it was I who flew rather than fell. Even a petrel may drown in ill chances, you know. It is rare for them to dive fully into the water.”

“I did not know,” Finduilas admitted. “How was it that you survived?” 

“I learned I had wings - and took heart,” Elwing said. “And I do remember that the first breath after breaking the surface was the sweetest I had ever taken. It is what I remember now when I take flight, or in face of some trial.”

“Like last ni--?” Finduilas asked. Her voice faltered before the sentence was out in full. “Is that the reason you are wearing your wings even now?”

“Wearing the shape of birds - in whole, in part… left me as changed as his star-sailing left Eärendil. Gereth recognized it in me last night, I think. And as it is, I would rather have my certainty of flight with me when I fear falling.” 

Finduilas recalled the past day and Elwing’s arrival. A swallow, she had thought, fit her best, and now she could see it once again, Elwing darting through the air and escaping her troubles with the speed of an arrow. 

“It is not… invisible,” said Finduilas in agreement. “Even to those who have not met you before, although they may not know what they are seeing until you have explained yourself.” 

“What, my being fey?” If Elwing appeared bemused, at the very least the corners of her eyes creased suddenly into laugh-lines.

“Yes,” Finduilas said, and added hastily, almost stumbling over the words again, “But I must admit that I underestimated you as well - the work of your wings, and its necessity.” 

Elwing rose and jabbed her head forward in a quick nod. The abrupt gesture made Finduilas almost fear that she had insulted Elwing again, and she scrambled to her feet as well. She did not wish Elwing to leave yet.

“I enjoyed your company this morning, and it eased my loneliness at least a little. I hope it quieted your mind as well - in truth we are not so different, perhaps.”

Finduilas breathed a sigh of relief and reached for the set-aside tray. It seemed the conversation had to come to a close, and it was the closest thing to cling to. “Please, eat. I brought you breakfast,” she said again, not trusting her mind to string any more complicated words into sequence, fluttering as her mind was with the hope that Elwing might stay, perhaps even in time allow herself to return Finduilas’ affection. “Or we could take it on top of the tower - last night I saw a flock of terns come in. They were only the first of many, so it may be too early to go to the cliffs, but you may want to see them nonetheless?”

“I would like that,” said Elwing. She reached out to take the tray from Finduilas’ hands, her thumbs brushing over Finduilas’ knuckles. Once empty, Finduilas’ fingers curled to hold the warmth of the touch there as they climbed up into the tower together, emerging onto the roof to the cries of the birds darting along the sunlit shore, and, far away on the sea to the east, the first hint of sails coming toward harbour.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Hópa Óressë_ is Quenya for "Haven in the Morning".
> 
> Meleth, Evranin and Gereth are characters from the _Book of Lost Tales_. Meleth was the nurse of Eärendil in Gondolin, Evranin the nurse of Elwing in Doriath, and Gereth "a gnome" who, together with Evranin, helped Elwing escape from Doriath. In trying to make her story plausible and integrate it with subsequent canon, I decided she was a Noldo of the folk of Celegorm and Curufin who remained in Nargothrond after their banishment, and eventually made it into Doriath together with other survivors after Nargothrond fell. 
> 
> Gereth may not have been female in the original text; the name may instead be derived from Gnomish GER-, metal with -eth as an abstract suffix, but would almost certainly be understood to be female had it occured in later Sindarin, and I decided to run with that idea.
> 
> Finally, many thanks to Elvie and Zeen for their help with this!


End file.
